


A Loss Unknown

by MarshmallowWrites



Series: Stories of Solara [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: (Ilvia is proud of her), I have permission from Tymoren’s player and creator to use them, Ilvia is Solara’s pet wolf, Insanity, It has killed people before, Language, My party hates me for torturing her, Panic Attack, Self-Harm, She just wants someone to be proud of her, She keeps it in a bag and slaps people with it, Solara desperately wants to impress Tymoren, Takes place a day or two after the Cellar story, The Stone Head talks but only Solara can hear it, Tymoren is a sailor storm mage half-elf who is the tired parent of the group, mental issues, mental state deterioration, she claws up her own arm in a catatonic fit while panicking, why you shouldn’t talk to the voices in your head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:53:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmallowWrites/pseuds/MarshmallowWrites
Summary: Context: The first ship we were on got destroyed, our merfolk Druid called in a whale to carry us to an island where we found a partially submerged temple filled with wrecks, we killed some merrow and looting merfolk, Solara got stabbed pretty bad with a merrow harpoon, she immediately pulled it out of her stomach and killed him with it, rather than using her quarter staff. It felt good. We got a special glove to let us handle the Shards of Desolation without blowing up again and for some reason Solara glowed green wen touched by the glove (no one else did).The last time someone in the party glowed green—in the presence of the original, whole Stone of Desolation before we broke it—the Stone Elf lost her memories (again!), the Tiefling died (she got better), and we blew up half a continent and killed millions of people! Yay! Solara’s eyes are also green and because of the glowing and exploding and death she deeply loathes and fears the color green, so that’s why she flips out over the glowing.This is set right after we leave the temple and are heading for the Merfolk Druid’s home to rest before continuing on to the Iron City to regroup and catch our breath. Just a little between session story.





	A Loss Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> “And the other gods begged for their fellow deity to spare the poor child, and the god looked down upon the child and spake one word, Nope.”
> 
> The Stone Head came from a statue that grew from a magic bean Solara was given about a session before the destruction of the continent and all that other jazz. (First off, I got a bag of fucking beans while Tymoren got a dragon scale cloak...totally not still bitter about it). The statue had a foul mouth and wouldn’t shut up and knew way to much about Solara’s inner thoughts so while everyone else was debating what to with it, Solara cracked the head off and stuffed it in a bag. The mouth still moves but it cant talk. Needless to say, everyone in the party was kinda weirded out by that, especially with the fact she kept it.

Her ears were filled with a deafening ringing that seemed to come from within, Solara felt too aware of everything around her yet not connected to any of it. She could feel the ocean waves rocking the ship. She felt the rough scratching of the wood planks beneath her legs as she sat on a molding crate to the side of the upper deck, tucked away from sight behind the towering walls of supply crates. Ilvia lay at her feet, ever since the wolf had found her in the cellar the loyal beast had refused to let Solara out of her sight. Solara unfolded one of her arms from around her bloody torso and stroked Ilvia’s soft fur. A small thing of pain reminded her of the wound, she had patched it as well as she knew how but the harpoon had cut a seven inch long gash up her stomach stretching from her left hip to just below her right breast, it was a miracle she hadn’t bleed out, or been disemboweled.

Solara absentmindedly stroked Ilvia, who nuzzled her owners hand in an attempt to reassure her. The ringing in Solara’s head was becoming louder, every now and then she swore she could make out words in the static hum. She didn’t bother trying to tune them out, she knew how it would end and she didn’t have the energy to fight them anymore. She was too distracted by one thing. 

_ Why did I glow?  _ That one thought repeated in her head again and again like a broken record. At first the voice had been panicked but now it was apathetic.

The ship rocked suddenly as it it hit a wave, Solara lurched and jerked to steady herself, she inhaled sharply and grabbed her stomach as the sudden movement sent stabs of pain lancing through her mind—jolting her out of her thoughts. Ilvia whined and licked Solara’s hand. Solara patted her head but could not muster anything more than a small half-hearted smile that did little to reassure the animal. Solara wiped her face, and mechanically checked her bandages. Thankfully she hadn’t torn it open—she didn’t want to bother the others to heal her. She deserved it, she should have been able to catch the harpoon but in the heat of the fight she had forgotten everything. The voices of course had berated her ceaselessly for it.

The ship rocked again and something rolled against her leg, something hard and cold. Solara looked down to see the very same harpoon she had almost been impaled on, it was still faintly red. But whether that was from her blood or the rust she couldn’t tell, the merrow had not taken very good care of it, barnacles covered most of its surface and algae made it slick and hard to hold when wet. It had proved useful though, Solara could still remember how it felt as it slid into the merrow’s body, the squelch of the blood—the merrow’s gasping wheeze, and the way the hooks on the harpoons sides had pulled parts of the demonic fish-mans flesh back out with it. It was so different from her quarterstaff, most of its damage was blunt force with the bleeding staying internal—mostly, when it did make someone bleed it was often...explosively bloody. Broken, twisted bodies, shattered skulls with soupy brain matter spilling out, the smell of copper and death that filling the air with its cloying stench. The way the blood and its smell seemed to absorb into everything it touched. 

Solara had learned how to wash blood out of clothing as a child, but this kind of blood was different—this kind of blood seemed to stain her very soul. Solara had stopped petting Ilvia, she looked down at her hands, she did not see the blood of her slain enemies dripping down them like she almost expected, she did not see the twisted faces of the dead leering at her from the shadows. Instead, she saw nothing, the red was all in her head, filling it, drowning her it in. The voices bubbled through, them told her how useless she was, how pathetic she was. Solara couldn’t find it in herself to care, if anything it was funny—now they were the broken record, not her.

The red in her head changed to green suddenly and the laughter died in her throat as she stared at her arm. It had glowed,  _ she had glowed _ . It hadn’t been a green glow, but it was still a glow and now all she could think of was the green glow. The glow filled her head, consuming her thoughts.

_ Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I glow? Why did I— _ Ilvia’s panicked yip woke Solara to pain, Ilvia whined and nervously nosed her hand away from her arm. Solara stared down at the red streaking down her arm—she had clawed her arm open as though she had tried to pull the offending limb apart like one stripes the flesh off a roasted chicken wing. Solara made no move to stop the blood, it flowed down, staining her legs and the crate she was sat hunched over upon.

Ilvia whined again and trotted away out of the hidden corner with determined purpose. Solara barely registered it, too busy staring at the blood that dripped from both her hands, not the blood of her enemies—but her own, and she was too apathetic to do anything about it. It dripped onto the quarterstaff and the harpoon which both lay at her feet and soaked into the cloth bag that held the stone replica of her head. Solara stared at the hidden head, knowing exactly what laid beneath, the mouth always twisted into a snarl, trying to yell though it had no voice. Sometimes she took it out to stare at it, she swore she could make out the words it was saying—sometimes it said the same things as the voices...she had stopped looking at it when its mouth and the voices started to sync up.

Ilvia’s muzzle in her face snapped Solara back, the white wolf licked her face and whined again. Solara leaned her head against the wolf, not wanting to taint her snowy fur with her blood. The wolf shifted backward but stayed leaning against Solara. A shadow fell over Solara, she didn’t look up. She recognized the shoes and felt shame bubble within her distantly—not enough to make it to her face. Tymoren said nothing as they knelt in front of Solara who turned her head away to avoid their eyes, Solara didn’t know whether it was because she was afraid of what she would see on their face or what she would see in the reflection of their eyes. Tymoren took Solara’s arm wordlessly and carefully began to clean it with practiced hands. The minutes seemed to stretch on endlessly before Solara chanced a glance at Tymoren’s face, they were focused on wrapping her arm and didn’t seem to notice, if they did they didn’t say anything. Solara saw concern in their face, which both did and didn’t surprise her. But there was no pity or spite as Solara had expected. She buried her face back into Ilvia’s fur.

Tymoren finished with the bandage and hesitated a moment, seeming to be looking for something to say to Solara. In the end, Tymoren settled for action over words, they pressed a fresh roll of bandages into Solara’s cleaned hand and surprised her by resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. Solara was startled by the gesture and her eyes shot up to Tymoren who stood and to Solara’s surprise again, gave her a small smile and cleared their throat before ruffling Solara’s cropped hair before walking away, trying to not draw attention to Solara’s hidden little corner.

They left, but it didn’t feel like they were leaving her—not in the way Solara had expected it to feel. Ilvia’s tail thumped on the ground beside Solara. The wolf moved back in front of her and seemed to look into her soul with her beautiful blue eyes, Solara stared back, waiting to see what the wolf would do. Ilvia blinked and looked down at her still bloody hand, the one she had used to tear up her arm, and to Solara’s surprise, began to clean the blood from her hand and like Solara was a muddy wolf pup. It stained her muzzle pink but Ilvia didn’t seem to care. A small, genuine smile cracked across Solara’s face and she scratched Ilvia behind the ear with the clean—but now sticky—hand in appreciation.

The moment didn’t last, however. A voice, raspy and dry broke through Solara’s head.  _ It’s you. _

Solara felt her body go cold, the voice sounded too close, too real. She looked down slowly to the now red stained sack at her feet, it had rolled so Solara could see the fabric move as the mouth moved and the voice whispered.

_ You’re next. _

Solara swallowed roughly, she felt the fear course through her veins, settling in her bones turning them brittle and robbing her of her strength.

_ Too weak,  _ the voice was reedy and seemed to be carried more by the wind than its own power.  _ Too weak to protect them, least of all yourself. _

Solara squeezed the bandage roll in her hand, it was true, she couldn’t argue.

_ Pick one. _

Solara glanced at Ilvia, who was oblivious to the voice and was now enjoying the wind and view of the sea. Her lack of reaction confirmed the voice was in Solara’s head—not that it made it any less concerning.  _ Pick one what? _ Why was she talking to it, wasn’t that the first rule of having voices in your head? To not directly acknowledge them?

_ Them or yourself? _

_ To survive? Them.  _ There was no hesitation in Solara’s response.

_Good._ _Then we can begin._

The head rolled as the ship rocked again, though it seemed to move differently than before. It rolled first against the harpoon, and then against a solitary plank of wood resting not far from the weapon. Solara blinked rapidly at the board, she swore she could see a face in the wood, eyes at least. It just needed a mouth. Solara pulled the merrow teeth from her pocket, picked up the harpoon and wood plank.

The voices were quite at first but gradually encouraged it, giving helpful hints at how to clean and sharpen the blade, and discussed amongst themselves how to bring the face out of the wood. As she worked, Solara smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love, comments are life. I’m just curious if people read this and what they think. Constructive Criticism is appreciated and welcomed!!


End file.
